Standing there, Aira had realized her error almost immediately after storming off. She returned, her senses stretching out to carefully gauge Rhode's aura. The truth was undeniable—his power now eclipsed her own. The memory of her haughty, "Hurry up and get stronger" challenge echoed in her mind, ringing with utter foolishness. A wave of scalding heat rushed to her face, a blush of profound embarrassment staining her cheeks.
"Forget I said anything!"
The words tumbled out, stiff and cool, a desperate attempt to salvage dignity. She blinked rapidly, as if to clear the awkwardness from her vision, and then vanished with a swish of Instant Transmission, faster than she'd arrived.
"This...?"
Rhode was left standing alone, momentarily nonplussed by her abrupt and flustered exit.
Aira rematerialized inside the Gravity Chamber Dr. Brief had built, the dial cranked to its maximum 100x setting. It was a paltry weight to her now, utterly insufficient for her needs, but she wasn't here for the gravity.
She sank to the floor, legs crossed, and forced her racing heart and heated skin to calm. As her breathing steadied, her mind, honed by years of Yardratian discipline, began to dissect the problem with cold logic.
During their battle in the Time Chamber, their powers had been virtually equal. Her defeat stemmed from inferior control over the Great Ape Power's amplification, leading to greater stamina drain. The near-death experience that followed should have given her the advantage—her Zenkai boost had propelled her to roughly eight million.
She had assumed, with a flicker of something like chivalry (or perhaps pride), that she would wait for Rhode to catch up before challenging him again. A victory leveraged from his own healing felt hollow, dishonorable. A true win had to be earned through parallel growth.
But he hadn't needed to catch up. He'd leapfrogged her. The humiliation of her earlier presumption was a secondary sting; the primary shock was the sheer speed of his progress.
How?
Training in a Time Chamber was ruled out—there simply hadn't been enough external time. The answer was brutally simple: he, too, had courted death and reaped its reward. He had subjected himself to the same brutal, efficient method she had.
Sitting in the humming silence of the chamber, a profound sense of helplessness washed over her. They were of the same race, with comparable talent—his arguably superior. Their dedication was matched. Every avenue she pursued, he either already occupied or could immediately follow.
She had poured a decade of subjective time into foundational control and power growth, believing it would be enough to bridge the gap. The result? In a death match, his superior technique would still see her instantly defeated. And now, with his power again ascendant, the gap felt wider than ever.
Should I just... live in the Time Chamber? The thought was seductive and terrible. She could compress decades into months, outpace him through sheer accumulated time. But the cost... aging into obsolescence before she could even claim her victory? And Rhode had his own chamber. It would become a mutually assured race to senescence.
No. That was a path to mutual destruction, not victory.
After a long, quiet struggle with herself, the turmoil in her eyes finally stilled, replaced by a hard, unwavering light. The frustration, the embarrassment, the tactical calculations—all of it was burned away in the forge of her resolve.
She would chase him. That was non-negotiable. It was the core of her being. The "how" and the "when" were secondary, problems to be solved through relentless effort and adaptation.
The day would come. She would make sure of it. With that ironclad certainty settled in her heart, she rose from the floor. The 100x gravity was a joke. She needed a new plan, a new edge. But first, she needed to train with what she had. Every second counted. The chase was back on.
For now, diligence was the only path. She had to master the instant application of Great Ape Power to Rhode's level. But that was merely catching up, not surpassing.
No. The thought struck her with the force of a revelation. I can't just follow his footsteps. I have to carve my own.
If she only ever learned from him, replicating his methods, surpassing him would be impossible. True victory required a path he hadn't walked, a power he couldn't anticipate.
Her mind raced back through their clash. She recalled a peculiar sensation: the fiercer her fighting spirit burned, the more her power seemed to respond, to swell in answer. It wasn't just exertion; it felt like a key turning in a lock. Could that be an angle? A source of power uniquely tied to her own will, not just a shared Saiyan trait?
Lost in this new vein of thought, Aira's world narrowed to the problem before her, the hum of the Gravity Chamber fading into white noise.
Meanwhile, Rhode watched the spot where Aira had vanished, a faint, bemused smile lingering. He shook his head. She was resilient, both in body and spirit. She would find her own way; she didn't need his coddling.
His own path forward required immediate, practical steps. He first returned the borrowed spacecraft to Tights on her island, offering his thanks. Then, he sought out Dr. Brief in his labyrinthine laboratory.
In the quiet lounge, surrounded by half-dismantled gadgets and blueprints, Rhode made his request.
"You want... a Gravity Chamber with a higher multiplier?" Dr. Brief's bushy eyebrows shot up, concern etching lines on his forehead. "The current model is already one hundred times Earth's gravity! At that level, a human body would be pulp in seconds!"
Dr. Brief, for all his genius, operated on a human scale. The true monstrousness of Saiyan physiology was beyond his everyday comprehension.
"Doctor, we've grown stronger," Rhode explained patiently. "One hundred times is like a light workout now. Trust me, we don't take our own safety lightly."
Even as he said the words, the recent memory of King Cold's fist punching through his torso flashed in his mind. 'Don't take safety lightly'? He'd just voluntarily walked into a near-fatal beating. A wry thought surfaced: perhaps there was a deep-seated madness in him after all—a product of Saiyan blood, or maybe just the sheer, audacious ambition to challenge gods and break cosmic chains. It was a madness he usually kept sheathed, hidden under layers of calm calculation.
"Rhode, are you absolutely certain about this?" Dr. Brief pressed, his scientific caution warring with his desire to help.
"Yes," Rhode confirmed, his expression settling into one of serene determination. "Please design it for the highest multiplier technically feasible. And make the chamber itself larger."
He paused, a new idea crystallizing. Rushing the construction might be premature. He needed a foundation first.
"Actually, Doctor," he amended, "how about this: first, compile all the necessary theoretical data and a list of required materials—especially any exotic or cosmic-grade components. Handle what you can. For any problems you can't solve, any material you can't source, just tell me. I'll take care of it. The physical construction of the chamber itself can wait a little. I have... other arrangements to make first."
The plan was shifting. Before building a better forge, he needed to gather higher-quality ore. His gaze turned inward, toward the vast, unexplored cosmos and the even more mysterious realms that might lie beyond it. The next stage of his training wouldn't be confined to a room on Earth.
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